Any reflection upon the courage or skill of the friendly Apache roused his resentment, which was the reason why Freeman pressed him.
“Where is your greatness? You come and tell me that you cannot get my boy away from your people, and yet it is not long ago that you set out to do so. You did not say then you could not take him from them, for you were the brave Mendez that the white people praise and that is not afraid of any one, whether he be white man or red man. Now you are afraid.”
“Mendez not ’fraid! white man lie!” the warrior thundered as he laid his hand on his knife.
“I am not afraid of you, Mendez, but you have been too good a friend of the white people for any of them to wish to harm you. But I repeat your own words. Shall I tell you what is the matter with you?”
“No matter wi’ Mendez! He brave—he strong—he fight.”
“There is much the matter with you; you have been drinking tiswin; you are not yourself; but for the tiswin you would be the true, brave, noble Mendez.”
This charge being true, intensified the anger of the Apache. He again placed his hand on his knife and drew it partly forth. His scowling face, never attractive at its best, was working with rage. He seemed to be gathering himself to leap upon the man who dared to speak these words to him. Believing he was about to do so, Freeman quietly braced himself for the struggle. He disliked to come to violence with one that had done so much for the settlers and the army, but the exasperation of the captain can be understood. At the moment when his hopes were at the highest, and when he was certain that the scout was putting forth his best efforts, he came staggering back to his friends maudlin, helpless, worthless, good for nothing.
The belief was strong with the parent that if this opportunity was allowed to pass, it would not come again. More than one peculiar circumstance favored the cunning and ability of the scout, the combination being of that nature that a repetition was not in the natural order of things.
The weakness of Mendez for the vicious drink was well known, and no person could be better aware of its palsying effects than Mendez himself. It was to be expected that he would indulge in it when not on duty and the chance offered, but when engaged on an enterprise in which his highest skill was needed, there was no palliation for his dissipation. He must have drunk deliberately, and the father, distressed by fears for his child, could find no excuse for him. His anger was natural.